Chapter 2 #2
“I’ll call on Irving tonight and make sure he’ll take you, though there will be some negotiation on the price.”
He spoke as if she were a brood mare, and he meant to pair her with a flea-bitten nag.
“Perhaps I could find work.” It was a last-ditch attempt to stop this madness. Though who would employ her now?
“Even if I’d permit a daughter of mine to sully her hands, there’s only one profession open to you.” His mouth twisted into a sardonic grin. “If your mother were alive, she’d cast you out in shame.”
The words struck like a blade to her heart. Her mother’s soft smile rose in her mind, along with her final warning.
Trust no man, for they all betray you in the end.
Tears welled, but she fought them back.
Never let them see you cry.
Strange that her mother and Mr Hawke should share the same sentiment. Perhaps it was a sign from the gods.
“Excuse me. I need to visit the retiring room.”
“Don’t let me find you in an alcove with your skirts hiked,” came her father’s coarse warning.
“Jacob,” Aunt Augusta muttered sharply. “As I understand it, it wasn’t Daphne’s mistake. If we’re to salvage anything from this debacle, we must show a united front.”
A united front.
Somehow, she needed to sever ties with these wicked schemers and put more than an ocean between herself and Mr Irving. For a lady without funds or reputation, it was an impossible feat.
“I’ll accompany you to the retiring room,” her aunt said.
“She can do the walk of shame alone,” her father cut in. “Perhaps it’ll convince her that a comfortable home with Irving is the best option all round.”
It was a walk of shame.
Ladies stepped aside as if scandal were a disease they might catch. Had they carried stones in their reticules, they might have used them.
But the prospect of Mr Irving’s damp, grasping mouth caused her to stiffen her spine and walk with the deliberate sway of a courtesan. It took strength to look ahead and not at the carpet.
If only Mr Hawke were her tutor.
If only she possessed a measure of his charisma.
As she made her way down the corridor to the retiring room, someone whispered her name, low and unmistakably male. Her heart gave a traitorous jolt. The thought of seeing Mr Hawke again set her nerves alight, and not in any respectable fashion.
But it wasn’t the indomitable Mr Hawke.
Lord Templeton beckoned her towards an alcove, waving a slip of paper as if it might entice her. “I have a note from Hawke.”
Her dratted pulse rose a notch.
Perhaps Mr Hawke had offered her a financial reward for being a pawn in his game. Wishful thinking. By the time she reached the lord, it was clear he had read the missive.
“Hawke suggests if it all goes to hell, and it will, you should seek out Lady Soanes. You’ll find no safer place this side of disgrace.”
She took the note from the lord’s hand and thanked him for his trouble. But he caught her wrist in a serpent’s grip and drew her closer.
“I have a better alternative, Miss Harland. A house out of town, away from prying eyes. Use of a carriage. Any fripperies you desire.”
Her instinct was to stamp on his toe and bloody his nose, but she offered a sweet smile, the kind that warned of arsenic in the tea. “How generous of you, my lord. But I’m already quite ruined. It would be greedy to take more than my share.”
Lord Templeton’s thumb stroked her wrist. “It’s a practical offer, Miss Harland.
A promise you’ll be well housed and well kept.
” He moved nearer than courtesy allowed.
“No lady has ever found my terms lacking.” He tapped the note in her hand.
“Hawke no longer assumes responsibility for your upkeep or your virtue.”
How naive she had been.
Was this how her life would be now?
Not one leering gentleman to endure, but a horde of them.
“I shall give it some thought.” She tugged her wrist free. It was the only way to be rid of him.
“I’m extremely wealthy, Miss Harland. I’ll more than match any offer you receive. Your father won’t object. I doubt he’ll live to see sunrise.”
Too afraid to visit the retiring room in case the lecherous lord followed, she tucked the note into her bodice and promised to give him an answer by week’s end. Though she would sooner burn in Hades than waste another moment on this Lothario.
Damn Mr Hawke.
She was of a mind to challenge him herself.
A duel would be another foolish notion. She didn’t know the first thing about loading a pistol, let alone firing one with any accuracy.
But there were other ways to make a man bleed.
Not with a blade.
Knowledge was the only weapon she needed. The kind that could ruin a man’s name with a whisper, turn a rumour into a scandal, a secret into currency. If Mr Hawke thought he’d seen the last of her, he’d underestimated her badly.
She drew a breath, plucked the note from her bodice, and read Mr Hawke’s parting gift.
Angel,
The secret’s out. Let them whisper. You always did look good in a storm. Smile like you know something they don’t. You will soon enough.
Find Lady Soanes. She knows how to win at this game and finish it. She’ll see that you’re armed.
Hawke
P.S. I’ll miss those sweet lips and that clever tongue.
She studied his confident penmanship. What sort of man ruined a woman and then wrote her a note? Perhaps one with a conscience. Or one who knew Lord Templeton would read the missive and wished to convince the ton they were lovers.
Well. If he wanted her to seek out Lady Soanes, that’s what she’d do. A woman like that didn’t survive without influence. Daphne didn’t want sanctuary. She wanted training and help to overcome the obstacles. Who better to provide it than a woman who’d turned scandal to her advantage?
As soon as her father left the house to visit Mr Irving, and Aunt Augusta fell asleep in a fireside chair, Daphne dragged her packed valise from the blanket box and slipped out through the servants’ door, taking a hunk of bread and a square of cheese with her.
The walk to Wimpole Street took five minutes, though her heart thumped in time with every step. Would Lady Soanes receive her or turn her away like a common beggar?
As legend had it, the diamond of her Season was once found locked in an orangery with a wicked cad. The scandal should have ruined her. Instead, it forged her into something far more dangerous. Judging by the grandeur of Soanes House, infamy suited her well.
Daphne lifted the lion-head knocker, polished to a mirror sheen, and made her presence known. The young butler answered promptly, a frown flickering beneath his reserve as his gaze dropped to her valise.
“If you’ve come from the Registry, miss, Sir Gascon Phillips lives next door. He holds interviews between ten and noon.”
That he’d mistaken her for a servant did not bode well. She pressed the note into his hand. “Please give this to Lady Soanes. I shall await her reply.”
“Lady Soanes is indisposed.” His tone was polite but noncommittal as he returned the note. “You may try again tomorrow. After her afternoon calls at three.”
She might be halfway to Bengal by then.
Daphne stepped closer. She was not averse to barging past him. “I must leave London tonight. I’m sure Lady Soanes will appreciate the urgency of a woman down on her luck.” She offered the note again. “Mr Hawke advised I call, and gave me this missive two hours ago.”
Before the butler could respond, a feminine voice floated down the stairwell. “Did he now? It’s just like him to catch a lady unawares.”
A truer word had never been spoken.
A figure appeared on the landing, wrapped in a robe of midnight blue trimmed with white fur, her auburn hair coiled loosely, as if she’d only just risen from bed.
Lady Soanes descended with the confidence of a woman who’d fought the patriarchy and won. “Allow her in, Braisby. One never ignores a summons from Hawke.”
Braisby took her coat without comment, though his brows lifted at the worn hem and the heavy valise.
The drawing room was all pale blue silk and gold damask, with marble-topped tables and gilt-framed portraits. Every polished surface spoke of wealth and security, things she could only hope to possess.
Lady Soanes poured two glasses of sherry, then crossed the room and handed one to Daphne, but not before giving her figure a brief appraisal.
“I’ve had many requests from Hawke over the years. Never one involving a woman. May I ask how you’re acquainted?”
Daphne took a fortifying sip of sherry. “He came to Lord Templeton’s ball to ruin me, so my father would have cause to call him out.”
The evening had not gone entirely to plan.
Lady Soanes’ gaze dipped to her lips. “Did he succeed?”
She told the story from the beginning. Soon, all of London would be able to recite it verbatim. “A dance was all he intended.”
“Dance with a devil and you’ll burn on a pyre.”
“I confess, I did more than stir the embers.”
“You did? How intriguing.”
She explained her father’s devious plan to see her wed. “I let myself stumble into Mr Hawke’s arms as the waltz ended, then kissed him.”
The lady tightened her grip on her glass. “You kissed Dominic Hawke? Before a room full of people? Without his permission?”
“What else could I do? I need Mr Irving to withdraw his suit.”
Lady Soanes shook her head. “It will take a little more than a kiss in a ballroom. My dear, your father needs money. Desperately so, from what I hear. Mr Irving needs heirs to prevent his brother from taking control of the family business. He won’t care about gossip. He means to emigrate to India.”
Yes, and he intended to secure an heir before the ink on the register dried.
“Could I not pretend to carry Mr Hawke’s child?” Desperate times called for desperate measures. And things were already spiralling out of control. “After tonight, no one would doubt it.”
Lady Soanes’s eyes widened in alarm. “Good God, no. Have the ton believe he left you with child and turned his back on it? Hawke would never allow it.”
“But everyone believes he’s a rotten scoundrel.”